Trust
by Cold North
Summary: Elijah has a minor crisis of faith, and Elena sets him to rights. Or somewhere near there.


A/N: You could call this a Bond!AU if you wanted. Elijah might seem slight OOC, so find me for clarification. They are both vampires. Unbeta'd.

Elena comes upstairs from the casino, her dress smelling like whiskey and cigar smoke. It was also quite wet, thanks to an overturned tray of drinks as a waiter was coming up the stairs.

She unzips it, and pulls another dress out of the armoire in the room. It's a little black dress, with ice blue trim that makes her dark hair and eyes look cold. Elena is so very dressed to kill. She hangs up the wet evening gown in the en suite bathroom, and is on her way to the door, when she hears it close from one room over. Elijah comes in, looking scruffy and unwell. He'd been gone on business for three days, telling her nothing at all about where he'd been. She was ever so slightly miffed that he hadn't bothered telling his own protegee about exactly the sort of business he was training her to conduct- the most clandestine sort. He grunts something about hating rope, and slams the door to his room in the suite. Elena hears the shower turn on, and decides to wait for him.

He had been gone three days longer than he was supposed to have been, and that worried her slightly. He was obviously still alive, but given the number of gunshot holes in his suit, something had gone terribly wrong, and the wild look in his eyes was probably not entirely the fault of bloodlust. Preparing herself for Angry Elijah or Upset Elijah, Elena crosses the tacky shag carpeting to his room in the suite. The water in the shower turns off, and Elena hears Elijah bumping around, knocking something over with a muttered _shit_ at one point. The door opens, and Elijah, with bags under his eyes and in a clean white shirt, black pants, and white suspenders, steps out. His three day stubble is bordering on a beard, and the empty look in his eyes tells Elena that this is a Not Good Situation. She had been prepared for anger, but vulnerability? No way in hell. Vulnerable Elijah was a once-every-few-centuries kind of deal. _Way to draw the short straw._ She gestures to the chair in front of the vanity. "Sit." He does as she commands. She passes him a blood bag, and he drinks it slowly, his thousand yard stare passing straight through the mirror. He finishes the bag and drops it on the counter. Elijah sits, staring blankly, while Elena gathers a cake of powder, a brush, a straight razor, and a cup of water from the bathroom. She wets the powdered brush, and applies the thick lather all over Elijah's jawline. She is almost finished when Elijah finally speaks. His voice is so quiet she's not sure he's speaking until her brain catches up with her ears.

"We were here so I could make a safety payment, something for a local lord who keeps an eye on my investments here. He had decided not to continue working for me, and as I stepped through the threshold, his thugs ambushed me. I couldn't fight, not if I didn't want them to find out about my… nature. It was futile, however. He must have already known. They tied me up with ropes soaked in vervain, and shot me and when I healed, they kept shooting. I lost everything I had in this city in two nights. I had to kill them all, and now the power struggle to fill the gaps will last for months. Lots of innocent people will die, because he chose to disobey me." Elijah's voice is flat, and monotone. A heavy ambient silence fills the room around them. There is some more life in his eyes. He lifts his gaze in the mirror, and it hardens, sharpens. "Well, Elena? Are you going to take a chance at ruining me too?"

Elena says nothing, only lifting the catch on the razor so that it _sniks_ open, sharper than Elijah's gaze. She moves around him, standing in front of him now. He watches her every movement, but she stares only at his jaw as she moves the razor in small, methodical strokes down his cheeks, around his velveteen lips, and over his chin. She looks at him now, eyes bright. She puts two fingers under his jaw and lifts it, so that she could be feeling his pulse. He opens his mouth to voice a protest, but a finger on his lips silences him. "Hold still. This is the tricky part." Elena resumes her short methodical strokes, punctuated only by her rinsing off the blade. She cleans the sides first, working her way into the middle. She reaches the center of his throat, and very, very slowly, works the blade up it. The blade reaches his chin without incident. Elena pats his jawline with a wet towel to clean the remaining lather, and leans down to give him a quick kiss. She moves off into the bathroom to put her materials away. Once she returns, his eyes are fiery again. Elijah puts on the last of his tux, and they head out into the uncertain darkness, a united front.


End file.
